I'm a multidisciplinary artist and web sleuth.
This is the fifth part of Tomoaki Hamatsu’s story, I strongly recommend you start at the beginning here to learn the full story.
By Beatrice2 months ago in FYI
This is the fourth part of Tomoaki Hamatsu’s story, I strongly recommend you start at the beginning here to learn the full story.
This is the third part of Tomoaki Hamatsu’s story, I strongly recommend you start at the beginning here to learn the full story.
This is the second part of Tomoaki Hamatsu’s story, I strongly recommend you read the first part here to learn the full story.
On a September night, showering me with light, the stars were witnessing a fortuitous meeting. I followed the weeping, thinking I was dreaming.
By Beatrice3 months ago in Poets
In January 1998, a 22-year-old aspiring comedian, Tomoaki Hamatsu, went on an unusual audition for a show business-related job. After the audition, the candidates were announced that this job would be assigned by luck rather than talent.
By Beatrice3 months ago in FYI
On an unfrosted storefront window, I seized a glimpse of my own reflection. The dimmed-lighted shop, acting as an unwitting mirror, attracted my deflection. As I move toward the glass, I failed to grasp, in terror, my delicate profile.
By Beatriceabout a year ago in Poets
Here I start, in the raspberry field, falling once again, starting this cycle one more time. I wear my pained look, I’m joyless. I am the dumper, but I feel so guilty, so empty. I’m erupting at the bottom of it all. I’ll be climbing my way through the dense forest of feelings and pain. I’m driving me mad.
By Beatrice4 years ago in Humans
When I close my eyes, I can see the infinite black curtain taking place behind my eyelid. The circus of moving lights and dancing shadows starts promptly. I choreograph their motion to create forms and silhouettes. I let my mind play with my fluid black and white performance artists. I let my imagination engrave my consciousness.
I’m ready to go in. I dip my toes first, then I let my body slowly sink in the cold water of August. I find myself floating gently while the water is dancing around my neck. I was absorbing the heavy smell of the lake, invading my soul with appeasement. I was thankful for the silence of the water: the seal of the confessional.
By Beatrice4 years ago in Psyche
I often wonder what it would be like if I stayed by your side, if we never broke up. My apartment felt empty the minute you left, and I stuffed your portion of the bed with silence and alcohol.
English is not my maternal language, but I’ve heard your tongue has engaged, a turn around my hips. Honey, I don’t know what that means,
By Beatrice5 years ago in Poets
